


Christmas Is the Time

by ruebbish



Series: Growing Pains-A Post-Canon Klance AU [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adam is still dead, Allura is still dead, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Friends to Lovers, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Language, Non-binary Pidge | Katie Holt, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Slow Burn (kinda?), klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 16:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17165153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruebbish/pseuds/ruebbish
Summary: Christmas is the time to say "I love you"Share the joys of laughter and good cheerChristmas is the time to say "I love you"And a feeling that will last all through the year(Christmas Is The Time To Say I Love You, Billy Squier)The McClains decide to gather the Space Gang TM for a Christmas party about a year after the retirement of Voltron.There is still happiness:  it may be difficult to find, or found in even the simplest of things, but it is still there.





	Christmas Is the Time

**Author's Note:**

> ho, ho, ho.
> 
> time for a crappy one-shot I wrote while running on sleep-deprivation and the awkwardness of family christmas gatherings.
> 
> happy christmas.
> 
> warnings: mild language, mild sexual references.

The fire danced placidly in the brick fireplace. Colored lights glowed from the arched entrance to Lance’s living room while Sinatra crackled from the radio Rachel had fixed up for the McClains' abuelos. There was a single sprig of mistletoe secured to the arch, which Luis and his wife had worked for half an hour to center. The tree was full-colored and tall—Lance, Marco, and Sylvio and Naida had gone and cut it down themselves. Lance had come home that night exhausted, sweaty, and the happiest he’d been in a long, long time.

Lance looked himself up and down in the mirror, trying to decide between two different shades of blue jeans. The doorbell rang throughout the house and Lance dashed out of his room and to the top of the staircase, sliding across the hardwood floors in his reindeer covered socks. “Vee!” His face brightened as Veronica’s heels clicked across the threshold, a cold gust of powdery air whooshing through up the stairs.

“ _¡Santo Cristo,_ Lance! Put some goddamn pants on!” Veronica covered her eyes with her free hand while putting her purse and keys down on the end table.

“Actually,” Lance pointed a sole finger gun at her, “I need help with that.” He beckoned to her, dashing back to his room as Gene Autry drawled the first lyrics to _Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer._

“So I’m trying to decide between these two pairs,” Lance held the two jeans up for Veronica to see as she walked in. “These ones are more cleaned up, but they’re too light to work with the button-down.” Lance laid them out on his neatly-made bed. “These ones are darker, so that’s good, but they’re ripped at the knee and thigh and I think that’s too scandalous for a Christmas party.” He laid that one down too.

Veronica stepped up to the bed, her eyes darted from one pair to the other, then to Lance’s bare legs. “I honestly don’t freakin’ care, as long as you get some pants on.”

Lance sighed, as any respectable drama queen would. “You’re no help.”

“I don’t know what you were expecting from me. And I don’t know why it matters.” Veronica tossed the jeans to Lance and sat on his bed. “Why is your bed made?” She quirked a brow in the classic McClain fashion. “Who are you planning on bringing up here?” Her face stretched into a grin.

Lance sputtered. “Wha—who—I’m not—I’m not planning…” He trailed off, eyes meeting someone else’s, someone far away.

Veronica lightly touched his hand. “Lance,” her voice was of silk, “It’s okay to—to move on. It’s _okay._ You’re allowed to be with someone—you’re not replacing her,” she tugged him onto the bed next to her and he didn’t resist. Veronica lightly touched Lance’s Altean marks, one of the last remnants of an ephemeral relationship, “You’re allowed to love again.”

And there they were—Lance and his sister, who had always been there for him with kind words and a shoulder, however bony, to cry on. It wasn’t the prettiest sight—Lance sat on the bed, clutching an ombre of jeans, a single tear tracing down his face with Veronica next to him, glasses shining, hand on her brother’s shoulder and an inappropriately cheery Christmas song drifting up the stairs, oddly melancholic in that way where the mood intended is entirely different from the one it actually emanates.

“You’re allowed to love again.”

 

_“Por el amor de Dios, alguien apaga esa máquina horrenda.”_

There was a sigh and the sound of feet stomping downstairs before the obnoxious alarm shut off.

Veronica stood. “Well, I guess I need to go help with the food.”

Lance smiled, the film of residue tears cracking on his face. “Alright.” As Veronica left, Lance wiped his cheeks and smoothed out the jeans on his bed, the bedsheets wrinkled where the two had sat. He pulled on the ripped jeans and tied on a cute bowtie of his signature hue. He slid out into the hall with his socks, thudding down the stairs to the beat of _The Little Drummer Boy._

When he jumped to the bottom of the stairs and saw his life flash before his eyes when he almost slipped on his ass, Sylvio and Nadia grappled themselves onto his legs, shouting about the party and presents and God knows what else.

Lance stumbled over to the living room with his niece and nephew clinging tight to his legs and, not for the first time since finding Blue, thanked professor Sharrow for being unrelentingly hard on him in P.E. Lance came to a stop underneath the mistletoe, and gasped in faux surprise. “You know what I have to do.” He shook them off and gave each of them a short kiss. _“Eso,”_ he said, grabbing their hands and taking them over to the food. “Now you two need to get eating because I know that your Mamá won’t let you stay up past your bedtimes to finish your second helping of dessert.”

The doorbell rang and there was a fierce knocking at the door by more than one hand. Lance rolled his eyes and checked his face in Veronica’s makeup mirror to make sure that his eyes weren’t red. He swung the door open to find Pidge and Matt, aggressively knocking while Colleen and Sam stood behind them apologetically with presents, brownies, and mac ‘n’ cheese in hand.

Lance nodded to Pidge and Matt. “‘Sup, fuckers.”

Colleen shook her head. “Language, Lance.”

Pidge elbowed Lance in the gut. “Yeah, Lance,” they mocked, shoving their way into Lance’s house. “ _Language._ ”

Lance opened the door further, letting the rest of the family in before shutting it quickly after them. He exchanged Merry Christmases and brought their trays to the table, fending off a hungry Bae-Bae dancing around on his hind legs.

“Bae-Bae!” Colleen called sharply to the Holt family dog. “Sorry,” she turned to Lance, “Where’s the rest of your family? I wanna wish them Merry Christmas too.”

“No problem. Abuelito and the kids are back in the kitchen with my mom, dad, Veronica, and Lisa. Luis, Rachel, and Marco are still finishing up some Christmas shopping and Abuelita is still getting ready, I think.”

“Thanks, Lance. I don’t know how you keep track of a family this big.” She stage-whispered to him, “I can barely keep track of my own.”

Lance giggled and the doorbell rang again. Hunk waved to him with the hand that wasn’t gripping a present and a pitcher of—

“It’s a coffee smoothie with a little brandy.” Hunk grinned, handing it to Lance. “I saw your face, and yeah, it’s pretty good if I do say so myself.”

“Wow,” Lance took it from him appreciatively, admiring it. “That does look pretty damn good.” He looked back up at Hunk. “But then again, whatever you make usually is.”

“Aw,” Hunk pressed a hand to his heart.

“Don’t get a big head, I said _usually._ ” Lance glanced over Hunk’s shoulder. “You didn’t bring your parents?”

Hunk shook his head. “They’re still staying with my kid siblings in their physical therapy.”

Lance nodded understandingly. “Well, just let them know that they’re always welcome.”

The doorbell rang again and Lance opened the door to Coran and Romelle, Keith, Shiro, Krolia, Kosmo, and a man Lance vaguely recognized from somewhere he couldn’t quite pin. He smiled at Keith, letting he, Krolia, and Kosmo inside. He put a hand out to Shiro and the new guy.

“Hold on,” Lance raised a brow inquisitively, “Shiro. You’re not allowed in until you introduce me to this mystery man of yours.”

“Lance, please. It’s cold,” Shiro whined like the six-year-old he was. “This is Curtis. Curtis, this is Lance.”

The mystery man, _Curtis,_ apparently, smiled.

Lance offered his hand to shake. “ _Curtis,_ ” Lance grinned, “And how do you know my dear Shiro?”

“Jesus Christ, Lance, we’re dating. Now let us in, it’s like ten below out here.” Shiro bounced on his heels.

“You’re such a drama queen. Get in here.”

“Says you,” Shiro mumbled as he and Curtis stepped into the warm house. Shiro peered up at the mistletoe and pulled Curtis into a kiss.

Lance awwed internally as he stepped past the two, gazing at each other lovingly. Pidge bellowed, “Get a room!” as they collapsed onto the sunken red armchair in the far corner of the room with a mug of Hunk’s coffee smoothie in hand.

“Don’t be so salty, Pidge,” Lance scolded as he sat on the couch between them and Hunk.

“Lance, _mijo,_ ” Lance’s mom stepped into the living room, wiping her hands on a faded blue towel. “Make sure the door is locked.” Lance nodded, prying himself from the couch. _“Y prende el calefactor, porfi.”_ Lance nodded again.

He clicked the lock into place and fidgeted with the space heater by the coatrack. He turned to reclaim his spot in the living room before Hunk did but Keith stood in his way.

“Hey, uh, where’s your bathroom?”

“Here, it’s just down…” Lance pointed Keith down the hall, but Pidge’s sniggers and Hunk’s wide eyes made him look at what was hanging over their heads. Literally.

Keith’s brows knit. “You okay? What’s…” He followed Lance’s line of vision to the mistletoe.

“Oh,”

“Yeah.”

Pidge raised their eyebrows. “Lance, you are the firmest believer in mistletoe that I’ve ever met.” They raised their phone, camera at the ready. “Wouldn’t want to _stain_ your _reputation, would you?”_

Lance vowed to dig out that picture of Pidge in heels and a dress.

He leaned down to Keith and gave him the quickest possible peck on the lips.

Pidge and Hunk boo. “Make it an _actual_ kiss, moron!” “Do it right or this photo goes to Veronica!” “You claim to be _so_ romantic, yet you don’t actually know how to kiss.”

Keith tucks his mullet behind his ear, looking up at an enraged Lance. “Go ahead. Prove them wrong. I know how irresistible a challenge is for you.”

“Can we flip them off?”

Keith grinned. “You know how well-exercised my middle finger is.”

Lance laced his right hand tightly in Keith’s hair and Keith gripped Lance around the waist, both their free hands loosely flipping the bird.

After a few seconds of Pidge and Hunk’s stunned silence, Lance quietly directed Keith to the bathroom and returned to his seat.

It was Shiro’s turn to be an ass. “Boo! No tongue!”

Lance rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. “Oh, fuck off.”

Shiro and Curtis laughed. Romelle leaned towards Lance from her perch on the piano bench. “Lance, you’re all red!”

Lance turned redder. “No, I’m not.”

Romelle giggled.

“My—I just—my rosy complexion is just highlighted by the—the fire.”

Pidge snorted.

“I can’t believe you.” Lance plopped onto the sofa, sulking. “I invite you guys into _my_ house, give you _my_ food, and you _dare_ —”

Coran twisted his mustache. “Lance, if you’re trying to intimidate us, you’re failing miserably—” there was a thud and a “Quiznack!” as Coran rocked too far back on the creaky rocking chair.

The room erupted in laughter and now it was Coran’s face that was as flushed as his locks. “Lance is right,” he mumbled in faux rage, “You humans are the epitome of inhospitable and disrespectful.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Keith appeared in the vaulted archway and walked over to the sofa, taking a seat on the arm of the sofa next to Lance. Keith smiled at Lance in that way he does before doing something nice. “Lance and his family are pretty hospitable. I mean, _I_ wouldn’t want to have all of us over for a party.”

“Hey! We are a charming bunch!”

Lance was interrupted by Pidge, Romelle, and Curtis chanting “Chug! Chug! Chug!” As Hunk gulped down a ripped packet of Capri Sun.

Keith and Lance met eyes. “I rescind my previous statement.” Keith laughed.

 

The night waxed and the brandy waned, Hunk and Romelle both hitting a sugar high from the Capri Suns and crashing severely mere minutes later. Nobody’s mug was left empty, being replenished with Hunk’s coffee smoothie or apple cider or mulled wine, depending on the preference of the drinker. They were emptied nearly as fast as they were refilled. Conversation drifted in and out, the tipsy party-goers, on occasion, breaking out in raucous laughter or chorusing along to Christmas classics on crackling in and out on the radio without judgment of each other or a care in the world. At one point, Lance, Keith, Shiro, Curtis, and Veronica performed the _Mean Girls_ dance to _Jingle Bell Rock_. They were met with boisterous applause, even adults drifting in from the kitchen, and Lance soaked up the cheers. “I’m glad I sent the kids to bed already,” Luis laughed. “That wasn’t exactly PG.”

They celebrated the striking of Christmas Day in a New Year’s fashion, counting down as the grandfather clock ticked loudly, hands flying in the air and husbands sweeping their wives into kisses. Shiro shrugged and pecked Curtis on the lips like a smitten schoolboy. Lance gave Hunk a kiss on the cheek and Shiro attempted to embarrass Keith by planting an indirect kiss on Keith’s cheek through the use of his prosthetic hand. Gifts were exchanged, warm laughter filling the room at the references of inside jokes conveyed through inexpensive presents scavenged from the mall.

All voices came to a halt when Curtis swept himself onto one knee in front of the loveseat. His words were moving and loving and just quiet enough to be mere murmurs to everyone except himself and Shiro. There were tears as Shiro took Curtis’s hand in his own, nodding ferociously, and they melted into each other as the house shook with whoops and applause.

As no further event could possibly move the party as much as this one did, voices died down and soon the noise was reduced to isolated voices and parlor giggles, accompanied by the static of the radio as one DJ was replaced by another.

“Clearly, you haven’t met Veronica.”

“I dunno, she’s been nothing but nice to me.”

“That’s just ‘cause she lowkey has a crush on you.” Laughter. Lance turned back to Keith. “I’m serious. She once asked me to set her up with you.”

“The fuck? When was this?”

“Oh, my date with Allura.”

The room fell quiet at the mention of her name. Lance glanced to the warm lamp, then to Coran. “She never got to celebrate Christmas.”

Coran shook his head but tried to lighten the mood nonetheless. “Well, she’s not missing much.” He twirled his mustache. “Back in my day on Altea, the celebrations would rage long and hard into the night. They wouldn’t stop ‘til morning!”

“That’s _what she said!_ ” Pidge, Matt, Lance, and Keith chorused. Hunk shook his head disapprovingly.

 

The party eventually leaked out of the house in pairs of twos and threes as the air warmed and the wind picked up. Some wandered about the farm, down the street, out to the park. Somehow, the red paladins found themselves standing beneath the muscled, gnarled limbs of the large Cuban Magnolia. The sharp, cold wind nipped at their ears as they both contemplated the tree.

Lance’s voice cut through the biting air. “Ever since Allura healed it, this tree hasn’t stopped growing.” He stepped up to the tree in easy strides and placed his hand on the trunk of the tree, a handprint smaller than his beginning to glow softly. Keith stepped beside him, the glow of Lance’s marks reflecting in his eyes.

Keith turned his eyes back to the tree, but they found their way back to Lance, whose face turned to him, brows knit.

“I miss her.”

“Of course you do.” Keith gently puts a hand on Lance’s shoulder. His eyes never left Lance’s.

Keith sighed.

“I know what it feels like to lose someone you loved.”

Lance’s body turned to Keith’s, the hand of the latter shifting to the former’s upper arm.

“My dad.”

Lance cocked his head to the side, letting his hands drop into Keith’s.

“My mom, until I found out that she was a rebel alien.”

Lance chuckled.

“Shiro, even though we found him.” Keith bit his lip.

Lance interjected— “Well, we found the fake him.”

“But we got the real him back again. Through the fake him, but still.”

Lance nodded.

“But that’s not the point I’m trying to make.” He waved his hand as though to disperse the offhand exchange they’d had.

Keith took a breath and met Lance’s eyes.

“And, when you asked Allura out, you.”

Lance’s eyes darted around Keith’s face.

“I—I mean, I got over it.” Keith laughed halfheartedly. “You can’t always get what you want.”

Keith tried to gauge Lance’s reaction.

“Keith.” Lance’s voice was soft, resting on the wind.

Keith nodded.

“Keith, I…” Lance leaned down and, for the third time that night, their lips met, gentle and chapped.

Lance saw a light lavender dance behind his eyelids. With Allura, warm-colored fireworks had exploded in his abdomen—Allura had been this dream of his, someone he’d seen and his heart pounded in his chest, chanting “She is who I want. She is who I want.” So she is what he’d striven for all those years.

With Keith, things were different. They’d been a little offbeat at first, sure, but they fell into step as their hearts had at that moment, beating in unison.

With Keith, everything clicked into place, and at that moment Lance had realized: Allura was who he’d wanted—who he’d dreamt of, who he’d wished for. Keith was what he’d needed.

They pulled apart, and Lance could feel his pulse in his ears. “Keith…I think I might love you.”

Keith’s eyes opened lightly, glancing from Lance’s eyes to his lips and back to his eyes. He smiled in that way he had when they’d shared that bonding moment so long ago, that way he had when they’d watched the sunset, the way he had when they were alone in the Garrison briefing room, Keith reassuring Lance that everything would turn out okay.

And, to a certain extent, it did.

Keith had that special smile of his, and, barely above a whisper, said, “I think I might love you too.”

And with smiles on their faces, their lips met for a fourth, fifth, sixth time.

 

Fireflies danced above their heads as they walked back to Lance’s now-silent house, hand in hand. “I hope you don’t forget this bonding moment, too,” Keith said.

“Trust me,” Lance smiled, truly, truly smiled, for the first time in a long time. “That was pretty memorable.”

Keith laughed as the door to Lance’s house creaked open, hoping not to disturb the sleeping guests.

“Wow, looks like nobody decided to leave.” The couple stepped carefully over the dozing bodies, finding their way to the unoccupied couch.

And as the night waned, they cradled each other in their arms and fell asleep to the faint crackle of the radio.

 

_Christmas is the time to say "I love you"_

_Share the joys of laughter and good cheer_

_Christmas is the time to say "I love you"_

_And a feeling that will last all through the year._

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> (like I told you, sleep deprivation and awkwardness.)
> 
> tumblr: ruebbish
> 
> also, here's a fun little link to Hunk's coffee-brandy smoothie (which is actually a pretty good alternative to eggnog): https://www.finedininglovers.com/recipes/drink/coffee-smoothie-recipe-without-milk/
> 
> please leave kudos !


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